Pages
by KylosDickSaber
Summary: Anonymous prompt submission: The contents of Solas' sketchbook alongside the development and end of his relationship with Lavellan.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N**__ Hi guys. So yeah I'm uploading all my crap here instead of Tumblr. Yep Have fun_

A hand, messily sketched, uneven lines; He couldn't draw in the dark. Messy shading, the flesh on the palm opening up to something bright yet dark. Words written on the outer rims of the page, curses, self loathing. _This was his fault. _

He continued, adding small details that could barely be seen, but he had to keep his mind preoccupied. He couldn't think about himself now. No, he had to think of how to keep her alive. _Alive. _He repeated the word to himself. This was just a future that shouldn't exist. She shouldn't be real. _None of this should be real_.

Fingers dusted black with charcoal, he shut his book with a soft snap. Brows furrowed and lips tugged to a delicate frown, he sat himself in a comfortable position, taking her palm in his hands. Her heart beat slowed, now sluggish and heavy. He sent another spark of electricity through her.

He did this to her.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: **__Part two yay! _

A hint of blood poked at his tongue and he ceased biting at his lower lip. Her eyes were the most difficult to draw. Were they shaped like a feline's, or were they large and round. He couldn't point it out, even as she sat in front of him at the campfire, her black hair pushed back into a large, short braid. She laughed with the others, sharing stories along with Varric. She was _laughing. _He had never thought she could laugh, her face always drown in sorrow, confusion. Eyes drifting back to the page, he moved the thin piece of charcoal over the paper again.

"What are you drawing, Solas?" He met Elora's questioning eyes, studying them. _That's how they worked. _

_"Nothing_." Was his simple answer and he seemed to have disappointed everyone around the fire.

"C'mon, Chuckles." Varric leaned over, attempting to peer into the book. Solas stuffed the book in his bag and stood. The shadows from the tress above them hid his now red cheeks. Elora studied his face, a smile digging it's way on her lips. She knew he was hiding something. She was an elf, she could see well in the dark. Another thing he'd forgotten about her eyes.

Clearing his throat, he bowed his head slightly with a firm,"Goodnight El- Lavellan." Turning on his heel, he slipped into his tent, taking a deep breath as he ran his hand hard across his face. Flicking his wrist, he conjured a small light before sitting down with the unfinished sketch resting in his lap. He couldn't draw her smile yet, both in person and on paper.

With the muffled voices outside, he slipped into a trance, the lines becoming messy again, forming her lips into a frown. Was she always so sad?


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N:**__ I promise, you're getting to the fluff _

They sat in the Redcliffe tavern, listening to Elora negotiate with Alexius. An odd feeling was lurking through the golden glow in the room and played with his nerves. Something wasn't right, but when was it ever? Instead, he sat at the table in the far corner of the room with the Iron Bull. He had suggested the place perfect for observing everyone.

Solas had been quiet that day, staying at the back of the party, only speaking when needed. A certain thought was clawing at the back of his head, begging for an answer he couldn't give. One of the first times he wouldn't have an answer to even the simplest of questions.

Instead he drew what was before him, a mug of ale with foam spilling over the sides. He had to resist from drawing her eye, taunting, luring. They will distract him from his duties, he shouldn't let them trick him. Perhaps this was the paranoia many Dalish felt over Fen'Harel in another mixed concept.

Yet he found himself drawing her again, lines clearer this time, the opposite of the feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach, the welcome chill of happiness that fluttered in his ribcage.

"You got her nose wrong," Bull was peering over Solas' shoulder, who had turned his back to Bull since they sat, "It's more of a _pointed_ button nose, you know?" The elf frowned, then shut the book. He felt the blood rushing to his cheeks again. He was always caught drawing her.

"Thank you, I'll keep that in mind." Mentally, Solas slapped himself up the head. He had just admitted that. The Iron Bull chuckled softly, sitting back again as he chugged his drink, the foam trickling down his throat.


	4. Chapter 4

The stones were taunting, the metal bars before him cold and wet from the water dripping from the ceiling. They threw him in with nothing but his underclothes. For a few days he sat, staring at the wall as the red lyrium swallowed his being slowly. That day was still fresh in his mind; The Tevinter Mage grabbing Elora's waist to pull her out of the strange portal, only to be sucked in with her. He remembered as Alexius turned to him and Cassandra, the smile on his face as they were dragged back to the cells, blood still running down Solas' nose.

He snuck his bag in later, thinned hands reaching though the bars. He would wait, he knew he had to wait. He had the feeling of hope, somehow. Where could she possibly be?

While waiting, he took out his sketch book, a small white light above his head and sat against the muddy wall. He was homesick. The arches constructed themselves on the paper, the groups of elves, magic flowing through air. Arlathan. His wretched home. The home he gladly burned down, where humans then danced on its ashes.

The lines on the paper were soft and curved, and slowly they began to harden, more jagged edges. They was the only thing that mattered to him in this world, the past. The place he was in, it wasn't real. It shouldn't be real. But he knew it was real, everything was real. He created this reality, and for it he must pay the price. He heard footsteps outside in the hallway.

Was it her? No, it couldn't be. She died. The Peoples' hope was dead.

He glanced down at his page, Arlathan standing boldly, serene with Lavellan drawn as an almost deity. He shouldn't do this, he shouldn't get attached to a dead person, let alone a person in a false reality.

Standing up, he made his way to the gates.

"Solas?" It was her voice. It couldn't be, it can't be her voice. He was hallucinating, dying. It wasn't her.

She stood in front of him, her face mirroring his own: Sorrow, confusion, regret. His heart was ramming in his chest as she unlocked the gate, standing back as she let him out. He wanted to touch her face, see if she was real or if it was the trick of his mind. Solas kept his shaking hands to himself, only emitting professionalism now as Dorian explained the circumstances. He left his book in the room. He knew what he had to do.

I really enjoy writing in his P.O.V. as you can tell.


	5. Chapter 5

The air was cold, wrapping it's fingers around his body, a shiver running down the dip of his back. This was not the best time to be outside, but he had to kill time. Sleeping was not an option anymore, he couldn't wake the Fade without his mistake splaying before his eyes, not while she lurked in his dreams. Solas knew she couldn't walk the walk another's dreams as easily as he did and it left him with only one option; He had constructed her in his dreams. They weren't pleasant, they were tortuous.

He would walk, surrounded by mirrors, seeing himself with red eyes, sharper features. Behind him she would always appear, quiet, small, the aura of dominance seeping off her skin. One by one she would shatter the glass whether it be with the touch of a finger or a bolt of lighting snaking up its surface.

Solas kept turning in the maze of mirrors, trying to look for himself. Each time he was met with no success and she shattered the mirrors again, and the tears that fell down his cheeks were cold and icy as he turned back to her,his face pulled down in desperation. Her nails scraped against his jaw, his blood bounding itself around her fingers

_He shouldn't do this. _

The page was now a disoriented sections of her face spread across the canvas of broken mirror pieces. She was was haunting him. Footsteps in the snow behind him, and he casually turned the page of his sketch pad.

"How long until we reach that place we were talking about, Solas?" Elora sat next to him on a dry area of stone, studying his new sketch carefully. It was an innocent sketch of the mountains, lazy lines and shading.

"Not too long, but there will be a difficult path ahead, so please do prepare yourself and the others." He didn't make eye contact with her as she leaned over to get a better view of his sketch. He didn't mind her looking. Not at all.


	6. Chapter 6

For hours he had sat in the rotunda, staring at the wall then back at his blank page. The air here was thinner, dryer, but warm from the circulation in the cylindrical shape of the building. The sound of shuffling feet above him was music to his ears. Varric's stories were ludicrous.

He couldn't think as well anymore, not after what he did in the Fade with Lavellan. It was innocent, silent lips and breathes, but he knew he would break her in the long run. He wasn't right for her. The whole time he spoke to her in the Fade, he _knew _it was her, yet his compulsion took over him. He could've ended it after she Began, but he was too stubborn, too prideful to let her slip away. He remembered finally feeling the warmth of another's body, even breathing and thoughts. It was a blissful unison.

Now he sat in his large chair, staring at the blank page in front of him, the flames shadow dancing on its surface.

If he can't be in her future, he might as well paint her past.


	7. Chapter 7

Cool wind against his closed eyelids, Solas felt the tear warm a streak down his cheek. The sharp wind had taken another one of his own, gone to the darkness just like the others. He failed them, Wisdom was now gone. They completed him in a broken sense, his other half almost. But they were gone now, and he couldn't bring them back. Solas could still feel the warm embers underneath his nails. Burning them alive didn't help the ache in his chest.

Whispers from the river before him filled his ears, the chirp of birds distant, halla hooves on the soft grass muffled behind him. Back against the stone, Solas faced away from the world, instead staring at the large statue of Fen'Harel in the distance. Time passed slowly, staring into nothingness, constantly failing to untie the knot in his heart. The sun began to ease away and the sky began to dark, his muscles beginning to relax, the shadows dancing with the blades of grass. A heavy sigh pressed past his lips and he pinched the bridge of his nose, standing up and walking in a random direction. There was no use returning to Skyhold anymore. He could offer no more advice, and Elora looked like she could handle herself fine. There was no need for him anymore. And for an endless string of days he walked, mourned. He felt no need to eat, only a few sips of water every day. He began to thin, his sweater becoming too large, his pants had to be knotted tight twice. Cheeks hollow, fingers boned, he collapsed to onto his knees, his weight leaning on his staff. How many days has it been?

His fingers never grazed his book that week.

I feel like there was more to his grieving than just a "whoops" and then comes back in perfect shape and stuff.


	8. Chapter 8

Her scent still lingered on him after leaving her quarters and he prayed to an unknown deity that no one would notice. Hopefully he would be able to blame it on the fact she had constantly checked up on him after his episode, always forcing him to eat. All sense of control was lost when he was near her, his composure shattering. He would try almost anything to see her smile. When he was in her presence everything felt real. He felt real.

Elora sat in front of him on her bed, covered in several blankets to make up for the harsh weather conditions. She read a book borrowed from Cassandra, who was absolutely amazed that the Inquisitor would read one of her favourites: Swords and Shields.

While she read he drew, filling up the page with the scene in front of him. She had been still so far, so it was easy to draw her. Now she moved, abruptly shutting the book only to open it again, face in disbelief. She didn't look like she would move back to her original position as she began to squirm.

"Is there something wrong with the book you're reading, ma vhenan?" Elora blushed, hiding her face behind the pages. Solas could tell she still wasn't used to his words of endearment.

"Cassandra said the book was action," she began to crawl towards him still covered in blankets, "but it's all sappy romance." The deep frown on her face conjured a smile from him as he moved over for her to sit next to him. Elora held the book open in front of his face, pointing at a line for him to read.

"I assumed you would have enjoyed that sort of literature, ma vhenan, or am I mistaken?" The blood rushed up her neck and cheeks again as her hand reached back to rub at the back of her neck. He would enjoy doing this to her.

"No I don't, not really," she sighed, slumping back down and opening the book to where she left off, her eyes skimming over his sketch page quickly, " and nice drawing." It was Solas' turn to blush now and he subconsciously attempted to hide his paper.

"Oh, don't be embarrassed about it _ma vhenan,_" he shot her a glare as she snorted at her own joke, "it's just a drawing. Always the same subject though." His smile was reluctant to form, but seeing her laugh even for a glimpse in time made his heart thrum in warmth.

"You should read your book." As he went back to sketching from memory, he was met with short silence before he felt her lean against him, using him as a rest. She was able to see his drawing clearly now.

"_Vhenan-" _

"Shh," she nudged him, "I'm reading."

Solas tossed his sketch book onto the side table, settling himself more comfortably as he draped a hand across her, leaning down to read the words over her shoulder. She was warm, and his attempts to angle himself so she wouldn't feel his mad heart failed as she leaned back further, halting him from all movement. Instead, he began braiding her hair, fingers weaving quickly and smoothly,barely focused on the book. His copy of her could wait for now.

Fluff, yeah? Yeah, I like fluff. Go easy on me though, I've never written anything like this before...

Also I'll try to be uploading soon, I'm just stuck with finals and depression pulling me into the abyss of no motivation. Thank you if you've read this far. 3


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